The Beginnings of a Wizard
by percychased
Summary: A chaptered look into the friendships, bonds and beginnings of Oliver Wood's first year at Hogwarts, and the family drama headed his way. Also featuring the esteemed Quidditch Captain, whom Oliver refers to as the 'Great Charlie Weasley,' and an owl named Wronski.
1. Diagon Alley

_Late August 1987_

It was more than he had hoped and better than he had imagined.

Of course, having two half-blooded parents, he had been to Diagon Alley before, but only once, and Oliver couldn't have been more than four. They lived up in Edinburgh, and rarely made the trek down to London. They had astonishingly busy lives, and one eleven-year-old Oliver James Wood could _not _wait to start his own busy life at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, the exact place he had been dreaming of attending since he was little and would jump up and down on his little toddler legs, babbling excitedly when his mother would make colors appear out of her wand.

Now he, Oliver, was getting his _own _wand and his _own _owl. Unfortunately he wasn't able to get a broom, but he staunched this blow by telling himself it would all come in good time.

Eyes wide, he surveyed the alley. Always being a little tall for his age, he wasn't lost in the crowd, and could see clearly a throng of red-headed wizards – the oldest being a teenaged boy that must've been around sixteen, followed by another grinning redhead who looked to be two or three years younger than the oldest child. The mother was clutching the hands of a young boy and young girl, and glaring at the backs of two identical sons, who couldn't be older than nine, that were pointing excitedly down Knockturn Alley. Oliver could hear her faint yell from where his own mother stood clutching his hand at the end of Diagon Alley.

What would it be like to have _that _many siblings?

His mother put an end to his inner musings by saying, "Come on, sweetheart."

"Where are we going first, Mum?" His mother, brushing her pin-straight brown hair out of her face, pulled a piece of crisp parchment from her purse and handed it to her son.

"What does it say first on the materials list, Oliver?"

Oliver narrowed his eyes to read the fine print on the letter and read, "Three sets of plain work robes (black), one plain pointed hat (black) for daywear, one pair of protective gloves (dragon hide or similar) and last is one winter cloak (black, with silver fastenings)."

"Madam Malkins it is, then." Gently tugging on her son's hand, she led him there. A woman with smooth grey hair who looked approximately seventy tugged was pacing around the packed shop – there had to be at least six other first-year students getting robes today, noted Oliver. He wasn't the _only _one.

"Another first year, aren't you, dear?" Madam Malkin had asked when she caught sight of Oliver glancing around the shop nervously. "All right, come with me then."

-break-

After being fitted for robes, all of which were tucked into a carrying bag by his mother, they had taken off to Scribblus Writing Instruments, picking up a set of quills and parchment to last him until Christmas break, and stopped by Potages Cauldron Shop for a brass cauldron and picking up the basic apothecary ingriedients he would need at Slug & Jiggers Apothecary.

On the way to Quality Quidditch Supplies (_"A special treat, Oliver, you're not actually getting anything," _his mother had said) he passed by some duller shops; a junk shop with a wonky-looking scale situated in the window, and a plain building with no display windows labelled _The Ministry Press. _

A white building shining in the distance caught his eye. "Mum, what's that?" He asked, jabbing his finger in the distance and squinting when the sun reached his eyes.

"Gringotts – you know, the bank," she had replied, and Oliver nodded.

After gawking at the _Nimbus 1999 _for twenty minutes, and had to be persuaded out of there, Oliver finally left Quality Quidditch Supplies with his spirits running high. This was amazing! He couldn't wait to be an _actual _wizard!

"Where to next, Mum?" Oliver bounced up and down on his heels. His mother tapped her finger lightly on her lip and turned to face him in the middle of the alley.

"Cat, owl, or toad, Oliver?"

"Owl," he had replied automatically. Cats were just – well, putting it simply, he didn't like cats and found toads rather slimy and gross. Plus, owls were useful, for carrying letters back and forth, and were highly intelligent, he was told.

The interior of Eeylops Owl Emporium was dimly lit, and owl cages lined every inch of the walls except for the display windows. What he presumed to be the manager bustled around, robes flapping behind him and assisting customers on their purchases. Oliver shyly peeked at some of the owls lining the walls; only one stared back at him unblinkingly with wide yellow eyes. It had smooth, shiny brown fur and was a bit smaller than the other owls surrounding it, but gorgeous nonetheless.

"I like that one," he nodded in the direction of the owl.

"Are you sure, sweetheart? No going back," Mrs Wood warned him sternly. Oliver nodded. It was the only owl who had the _courage _– a Gryffindor trait – to look him in the eyes. His mother motioned the clerk over, and set the bird in front of him.

"Wronski," said Oliver automatically. "I'm naming it Wronski."

Wronski the owl looked up at Oliver through the metal bars of its cage and nipped his finger appreciatively.

* * *

_Hello everybody! Yes, I'm starting another multichapter. No, don't look at me like that. I **will**__eventually get around to finishing It Was Always You sometime. ;p Review to let me know how I'm doing.. thanks! This is written for The Hogwarts Years Competition, and I, obviously, will be using the delicious character of Oliver Wood. Enjoy!_


	2. The Sorting Ceremony

The train ride was long, (if it was magic, Oliver wondered, why was it so slow?) and very awkward, because the other red-headed first year who had never given Oliver his name had his nose buried in a book and a stack of neatly wrapped ham sandwiches on his lap, leaving Oliver to do nothing but tap a rhythm with his wand on his knee and stare at the scenery out the window. As beautiful as it was, it got highly boring and Oliver was chiding himself for not bringing one of his Quidditch magazines to entertain himself.

"You should get changed into your robes, you know," said the red-headed boy for the first time, without an inch of shyness in his voice.

He was right; the sun was setting, casting a glow over the horizon, and everybody who had passed their compartment was already dressed in their own black school robes.

"I suppose," agreed Oliver, and slid the compartment door open in search of his robes while still tapping his wand against his knee in a steady beat.

The train had pulled into the Hogsmeade station with a loud _screech _and a puff of smoke. In the darkness of the night, Oliver could just make out a figure in the distance on the platform, almost triple the size of himself and a beard that could fit several cats inside of it.

"Firs' years over here! Firs' years, c'mere!" Wincing as his arms gave out underneath the sheer weight of dragging his trunk (and dragging it back after a third year informed him that they weren't supposed to be bringing trunks with them), Oliver made his way over to the man, unnaturally quiet and rocking back and forth on his feels.

_This was it. _

He'd get sorted. In a mere few hours, he, Oliver Wood, would be up in his new dormitory in his new house with his new housemates and new yearmates… a fair few _news. _Was he ready for this? Probably not, and he knew that he was made for Gryffindor (at least, he'd like to think so) because he couldn't be a Ravenclaw, he certainly wasn't intelligent enough, and definitely did _not _possess the traits of a Slytherin (Merlin, he couldn't be stealthy if it depended on his life) and Hufflepuff… well, Oliver _wasn`t _mean, but he wasn't the nicest kid in the whole entire world. So that left… Gryffindor. Yes, Gryffindor.

The lionheart.

He, in sync with the other first-years, (or firsties, as he overheard a fifth year say on the train) gasped as he first caught sight of the castle, drifting along with that giant man in the boats. It was wonderful; marvelous, spectacular, amazing, indescribable. Sure, they could describe Hogwarts in _books, _but that was nothing compared to real life.

The boats rolled along slowly, leisurely, letting the night breeze nip his skin while that red-head he shared the boat with gawked at the castle, taking in every inch of the panoramic view. His eyes flitted to the Quidditch pitch – he'd never seen one in real life, Oliver had been _dying _to see one ever since his mother had introduced him to the concept of Quidditch.

It was just as amazing, if not more, as he expected it to be.

* * *

If Oliver thought the panoramic view of the castle was amazing, stepping into the Great Hall with a gaggle of other first years was tremendously wonderful; a tingly feeling had inhabited the ends of his fingers and toes, and he could feel the inquisitive gaze of the other students on him as they marched through the center of the Great Hall.

He looked up, and the breath got stuck in his throat as he shuffled along to the end of the hall.

There seemed to be archways at the top, but instead of a normal marble ceiling, it seemed to be the _night sky, _twinkling with stars and with candles floating high above their heads, illuminating the whole hall. _This _was magic. Oliver knew he hadn't even chipped the iceburg with his knowledge of magic, but this was just breathtaking. His thoughts _did _keep lingering towards the Quidditch pitch, though, and the thought of how spectacular it would be to actually _fly _there. Dreams would come true.

A loud, clear voice called for the attention of the whole room and Oliver listened raptly. He almost jumped when he noticed a dusty, black hat perched upon a stool, a fold in the middle of it _talking _like a mouth, singing an amusing song.

Once the hat – the Sorting Hat, it was called – had finished the song it sang and the clapping had subsided was when the panic emerged, tugging on his heart until it fell into the pit of his stomach. What if he wasn't in Gryffindor? Maybe everything was a mistake, and Hogwarts had made a mistake and he was actually a Squib and the Sorting Hat would tell him that he belong nowhere?

A shout of "Abbott, Elizabeth!" and a following cry of "Hufflepuff!" jerked him out of his nervous reverie. He had a tendency to let his thoughts get out of control during stressful situations. _Just relax. _He focused on his steady breathing, the cries of the hat and the cheers of the other students echoing in the back of his mind as Oliver forced himself to relax.

Suddenly, the hat was crying out, "Weasley, Percy!" and the tight-lipped Professor had lowered the hat down on the red-headed kid's head and it yelled out, "Gryffindor!" before the boy slipped off the stool, straightened his back, and marched over to the bench and sat stiffly next to two other boys with the same flaming red hair, who patted him on the back and gave him proud smiles.

_When did it get to W? _he had thought, before noticing he was the only one standing in the middle of the Great Hall, awaiting his turn with the Sorting Hat. Of course he had to be last, with the eyes of _everyone _on him.

"Wood, Oliver!" McGonagall called out, and steadying his legs so they wouldn't shake, he climbed up onto the stool and felt his own heart beating in his chest as the hat was lowered onto his head.

All he had felt for a few moments was the frayed fabric before it starting speaking into his mind.

_Dead-set on what you want to be, I see, _it mused thoughtfully into his head. _Very stubborn and a work ethic, very nice, oh yes, but brave, surprisingly brave, too… _

Oliver's heart seemed to stop right there.

"GRYFFINDOR!"

* * *

_ I updated quicker than usual... wow, it astonishes me how much I can type if I'm really into the fic. Take a few second to review and let me know how I'm doing! Emily x_


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